I've crossed a line. And whatever this is or was...I've tainted it with truth.
"Crap, it's late," she finally says, breaking the uncomfortable silence. She looks at me and raises a brow. "Save the rest for later?"
"Sure," I nod, wondering if there'll ever be a later.
I give her a bag to store her wet clothing and walk her to the door. She turns just before she crosses the threshold. "By the way, I would've picked that too."
She walks away, leaving me with her smile. She doesn't say goodbye. Maybe part of her never really left.
TODAY ON E!... Breaking news on playboy prince, Evan Carr, as a sex tape surfaces, starring he and an unknown woman. The recording was leaked online just last night and has spread like wildfire, garnering nearly five hundred thousand hits in the last twelve hours. The mystery woman in the video is still unidentified, though it’s evident that it is not Allison Elliot-Carr, Evan’s wife of nearly five years. The pair has had a very public relationship, including rumors of infidelity on Evan’s part. Neither Evan nor Allison were available for comment, yet sources close to the couple say that Allison has been absent from their Manhattan home. Could this finally be the beginning of the end for the Upper East Side royal couple? Stay tuned for more on E!
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
I pull out my phone to dial, but it’s already ringing.
“You hear the news?”
No preamble. Just straight to the point. That’s my publicist, Heidi. I’m not surprised she’s already on it. I pay her a small fortune to ensure that stories like these don’t explode into full-on shit shows. As long as things stay somewhat quiet on the outside, I can do my job on the inside. But the moment things begin to fall apart in their absence, we run the risk of the wives catching wind and leaving. And exposing my identity. You see, Heidi also helps to maintain my anonymity. No one actually sees me until Day One, and they’re required to sign NDAs to safeguard against exposure.
“Yeah,” I nearly groan into the receiver. Yeah, it’s a hassle to keep the lid on stories this public, but the fact that it’s happening to Allison… shit. Shit shit shit.
“How do you want to proceed?” Heidi asks.
Under normal circumstances, a story like this would blow away in the wind as soon as a Kardashian sneezed, but the Carrs are prime real estate for gossip rags. And with a bastard like Evan dipping his dick into a different chick every other week, they feed the press like a smut news soup kitchen.
“Contact his PR, but stay mum. We don’t want the media to smell blood and we damn sure don’t want Allison getting hurt in this.”
“Allison?” I can hear the amusement in Heidi’s question. She’s as sharp as a tack and knows I never refer to clients so casually. She’s a shark, just like me. And sharks don’t get comfortable. They don’t slip up.
“Mrs. Carr. You know who the f*ck
I mean,” I reply sternly. I’m still a shark. Regardless of how guppy-fied Allison makes me feel, I’m a shark, goddammit.
“Fine. You know this wouldn’t be an issue if you would just listen to me sometimes. How many times have I told you-”
I press End.
I don’t need this right now. Allison doesn’t need this right now. And the fact that I’m aware of the demise of her marriage while she’s been hanging out, eating ice cream with me, makes me feel kinda guilty. Yet, not guilty enough to want to stop.
I dress for the day and head to the main house, more determined than ever to make this right for her. To make her into the picture of erotic perfection, so she will never have to face this kind of pain and humiliation again.
To transform her into the whore that Evan wants.
It’s not fair to her– hell, it’s not fair to me– but he won’t stop. He’ll never change his philandering ways. It’s all he knows, all he’s ever seen. And Allison, as smart and funny and f*ck
ing amazing as she is, will never leave him.
Welcome to the real game of Life, where we’re all players, but no one ever truly wins.
The moment Allison enters the room and walks to her seat, I’m moving towards her. I grasp her shoulders and pull her into me, causing her to gasp with surprise. Those wide, sparkling eyes search my face for a motive for my sudden erratic behavior. I look back at her, searching for the same thing.
“Ally…” I swallow, suddenly nervous to utter the next words. Not because they’re any more shocking than what I’ve said in the past. But because they’re probably the truest, realest thing I’ll ever let myself admit. “Ally, I need to touch you. And I need you to touch me too.”